The Woman Who Didn't Kill the Doctor
by SonicTeamFreeWill
Summary: A collection of oneshots, various moods and styles, featuring River Song, because my heart broke just a little in 'The Wedding of River Song' and I think hers did too. And again in Angels of Manhattan! ***Chap 5&6 contain spoilers season 7***
1. The Woman Who Didn't Kill the Doctor

**AN ~ WHOOT! Just got back from a holiday in Paris and watched the last two episodes of DW. OMG POOR RIVER * hugs * I loved those episodes. I can't wait until 'the question is asked'...ooooh what a chilling question!**

**Sorry I haven't been writing much I have been sooooo busy. Year eleven just totally sucks. It's work work work. I mean, there's fun in there, just no _relaxation._I miss it. I have a maths exam in two days * laughs deliriously ***

**I just had to write a short fic about 'The Wedding of River Song' IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN IT DO NOT READ THIS! MAJOR SPOILERS!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, or a Tardis diary, or a Sonic Screwdriver...but I do own 'Midnight' and 'Turn Left' in French! PS: the first two sections in italics are dialogue from the episode. I take no credit for them :)**

**.o.o.o.**

The Woman Who _Didn't_ Kill the Doctor

River Song fought the suit. She fought it every step of the way as it forced her back into the ocean, away from the lifeless body of the Doctor. She knew he was really inside it. He knew he was really safe. But they didn't. Amy and Rory – her mother and father – they had no idea their best friend was still alive, and they never would. They never could.

Perhaps that was better, though, than her fate. She knew he was alive, but she would never see the Doctor again – not _her_Doctor, not the way he was when he wrapped his bowtie around her hand and kissed her, man and wife. Their timelines had crossed, and now she was going backwards. One day soon, she was going to meet a version of the Doctor who had no idea who she was. One day soon, her heart would break again.

She was underwater now. She could feel the faint tingle of the Silence bringing her back...where? Home? She thought of the Tardis for a moment, and her willpower left her. She closed her eyes and surrendered. She didn't have the heart to fight any longer.

_You are forgiven. Always and completely forgiven._

"Not for this," she murmured back to him, looking around for his deceptively youthful face. "I killed you. I didn't tell them. I cannot be forgiven for this."

_I will suffer if I have to kill you._

_More than every living thing in the universe?_

_Yes.  
><em>

Tears stung her eyes as she recalled the recognition in his face at that moment. Just as she had promised herself, pain like the most indescribable torture latched itself to her heart. Dispair. Guilt. It drowned her even as the water disappeared from around her and stark prison walls began to form.

"Doctor River Song, you are hereby under arrest for the murder of the Time Lord known as The Doctor. You will not receive a trial. You do not have the right to silence..."

The voice went on, but she ignored it. She did not look for its source. She simply followed the wishes of whoever was shoving her down the hallway. More and more she felt the Doctor may really be dead.

She remembered in a flash of vividness his body sprawled on the sand, hearts cut short, regeneration halted. Dead. Was that her memory, though, or was it Future River's? Or was it from a different time, a world that no longer existed?

She remembered her mother, young Amy, sprinting across the sand to try and save her friend. The sobbing. The screaming. The rocking. The begging. She didn't care whose memory that was. It was murder in itself.

She was pulled out of the space suit and dragged to her cell. Her guards left her alone, curled up on the bed like a child, crying as if she was slowly and painfully dying.

"Doctor! Help me!" she wailed. Her broken scream echoed from the walls but was not replied. River refused to surrender to her loneliness. "Save me!_DOCTOR!__"_

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to contain any more cries. This was not like her. She refused to fall apart.

...But what else was there to do?

Suddenly, an old, familiar whirring made her jump from her bed. She shoved her way out of the door – her guards hadn't bothered to close it – and sprinted down the hall blindly following the sound.

By the time she got there, the faint outline of the Tardis had disappeared. Written with a finger in the fog on the window, in an unmistakable scrawl, was a message.

_Time cannot be rewritten. Write it well._

On the floor under the words was a pen designed like the Sonic Screwdriver – to match the Tardis diary, she assumed – and around it was tied the Doctor's blue bowtie. The one they had used for their marriage.

Blinking back more tears – sweet now rather than sorrowful – River picked up the gift like a most treasured wonder and, clutching it to her chest, returned to her cell. A backpack with a handful of her belongings was already waiting for her: resting on top of it all was the Tardis journal. She hadn't written much since Berlin. She'd been busy being kidnapped and escaping and such. Luckily, she had a very good memory, lots of time, and nothing better to do.

She lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and shut her eyes for a moment. The Doctor was there, in her head, running around the Tardis console with that ridiculously unbalanced gait of his. She smiled, and to the empty air, murmured:

"See you soon, Sweetie."

She fell asleep, the pen and diary still crossed over her chest.

Around her, the Silence crawled down the walls like spiders. They gathered around her bed and watched her for a few moments, and then their leader spoke. With a spindly finger, he stroked a curly lock of hair from her face. He leant right in to her ear, as if he was expecting her to hear him. He spoke with a gruff voice, a rasping voice – the voice of death.

"_Silence will fall when the question is asked."_

"_Who__is__the__Doctor?__" _asked the one beside him. Soon, the whole room full of Silence took up the chant.

"_Doctor who? Doctor who? Doctor who?"_

River slept on through.


	2. Hello

**AN ~ hello again guys! I was transferring some of my DW episodes to discs and so I ended up watching 'A Good Man Goes to War' again – this is what arose in thinking about the Doctor's expressions when River FINALLY shows up**

**Disclaimer – Doctor Who is the property of the BBC. What is actually going through River's and the Doctor's minds in this short are mine, but could not have been thought up without the episode and the brilliant acting! *hugs the Doctor* **

Hello

She had to let them take her. It was the only way.

She thought of all the pain they had driven her through. All the tests, all the needles and operations and scans. _Just two minutes earlier, _she thought._ Just let me try. _But she knew it was wrong, and that she could not. She loved the Doctor with all her being. She would not – _could not_ change anything about her life, in case it meant changing something with him.

On Demon's Run, the battle was over. Lorna Bucket was dying. Madam Kovarian and her prey were disappearing into the night. The Doctor was falling apart inside. And there was a storm, so violent and terrible that it almost matched the Lonely God.

River smiled ruefully when thunder crashed outside her cell. It was time. She slipped down the hall and outside with ease and then disappeared, off to a church base in deep space. Off to face the Doctor, in all his beautiful sadness.

.o.o.o.

"You're giving up? You never do that!"

"Yeah, and don't you sometimes wish I did?!"

The Doctor was so full of rage and agony that he thought he might explode. Lightning flashed across his face and his anger swelled, feeling the power of the storm. Somebody needed to stop him before he did something stupid. Like tail Madam Kovarian's ship with the TARDIS and try to take out the whole crew on his own. Or cross his own time stream and rescue Amy from here earlier, before the baby was born. Or -

"Well then soldier, how goes the day?" The voice came from behind him: female, edged with knowing, sly and haunting. River Song.

The Doctor turned on his heels._ Keep your composure, _he told himself. River Song angered him at the best of times and usually, he kind of liked it. Not today.

"Where the_ hell _have you been?" His voice was only just growling, but the ferocity was growing. _"Every _time you've asked I have been there! Where_ the hell _were you today?!"

"I couldn't have prevented this," River explained calmly.

The Doctor leaned in and growled in her face: "You could have tried."

Struggling to control himself, afraid of what other demons he might let loose, he stalked away. Once again, with painful serenity, River interrupted him.

"And so, my love, could you." She turned to Amy and Rory, where they stood wrapped in each others' arms with pain and shock and anger on both their faces."I know you're not all right. But hold tight, Amy, because you're going to be."

Soon. Soon she would tell them. First, there was the Doctor.

"You think I _wanted _this? I didn't do_ this_! This – this wasn't _me_."

"This was exactly you. All this. All of it. You make them so_ afraid."_

River kept her eyes on his, where tears were finally welling. It was cruel to the both of them, but it was the only way she could do anything like apologise right now. She'd have time to be sorry later.

"When you began all those years ago, sailing off to see the universe, did you ever think you'd become this? The man who can turn an army around at the _mention _of his name. Doctor. The word for healer and wise man. We get that word from you, you know. But if you carry on the way you are...what might that word come to mean?"

She paced across the room so that she was behind him. He was too stunned to follow. The truth of her words, especially after his revelations that day, was too painful.

"To the people of the Gamma Forests, the word 'doctor' means 'mighty warrior.' How far you've come." He looked at her, and she steeled herself to his turbid emotions. She felt sick doing it, but he had to know. This conversation _had _to take place – and not just because their diaries said it did, but for the Doctor's own good. She channelled all the pain that she had suffered as a result of the Doctor's failure on this day, lacing her voice with hatred.

"And now they've taken a child. The child of your best friends. And they're going to turn her into a weapon, just to bring you down. And all this, my love, in fear of you."

The Doctor was stuck for a reply. With a glare so mighty it held the agony and the authority of a thousand years, he stalked over to River.

"Who are you?" he demanded roughly. She was immensely uncomfortable with his proximity. She knew he was too. The way he held himself, he might strangle her any second.

"Oh look, your cot, haven't seen that in a very long while." She slipped away, grabbing his hand as she danced over to the beautiful, old, Galifreyan crib. She couldn't help smiling now, because he was about to find out who she was: that would change everything, and it would be scary, but it would be_ brilliant._

"No. No," he objected. "You tell me. Tell me who you are."

His dark eyes bore into hers. His fingertips kept a vice-like grip around her wrist. She felt like kissing him just then, to clear away his anguish and enjoy that completely confused expression he would get. Instead, her smile widened and she wrapped his fingers around the bed knob at the end of the crib.

"I _am _telling you. Can't you read?"

He looked down, to where Lorna Bucket's prayer leaf rested amongst Melody's empty blankets. He blinked, and the word transformed from the language of the Gamma Forests into something readable.

_The only water in the forest is the river. _Now he realised what it meant. The people of the Gamma Forests, Lorna's people, didn't have a word for pond, because ponds didn't exist where they lived, so on the prayer leaf, Pond became River. And he could bet Melody became Song.

Slowly, his eyes returned to the expectant face across from him. He wasn't sure what to say. Should he smile about this? River was; the biggest, cheekiest grin he had seen on her face so far. Suddenly, to the Doctor, the distractions and guilt from earlier became trivial: for now, this meant he didn't fail – he couldn't fail, because look where they would eventually come!

His facial muscles were still unsure what expression to take on. He was surprised, confused, and so happy he wanted to laugh and weep at the same time. How could he respond to this? What could he say?

And then he knew.

"Hello."


	3. Big Bang II

**AN ~ I've been wanting to write this one for a while. I've got their whole reverse-timelines thing much clearer in my head now, so I might fix up the other chapters, but for now just take each one as it comes. This one's pretty small, but I hope you guys like it :) It's set during 'Big Bang Two' – another from 'Time of Angels' coming soon.**

**Disclaimer: Doctor Who characters etc are not mine :( I have River's screwdriver though!**

The Big Bang II

River bit her lip, glaring at her hands to try to stop their shaking as she rewired the Pandorica's circuits for the Doctor, who was on the verge of unconsciousness, only upright as he was strapped into place. He didn't smile, didn't open his eyes, didn't so much as twitch when she reached within inches of his face to cut a wire.

_River...He died._

_Silence will fall._

_We were a diversion._

_Big Bang Two._

She and the Doctor both knew exactly what that meant. The Doctor would take the Pandorica up with him, the restoration field would be expanded and the universe would be restored – but the Doctor would be trapped on the outside, all memory of him deleted from the universe.

Tears biting at the corners of her eyes, River sucked in air through her teeth and twisted another pair of wires together. Madam Kovarian laughed inside her head, and River had to smile at the universe's twisted ways: she wouldn't be surprised if the Silence had organised the Alliance to take their revenge, thus - knowing he would sacrifice himself – successfully destroying the Doctor with minimal damage to the rest of the universe. And into the bargain, the most dangerous qualities of their most expensive and most drastically backfired experiment – Melody Pond, the woman who killed the Doctor - would be erased.

"Rrrrrr..."

River snapped to attention, freezing in place despite the weight of the panelling she was currently pulling. She watched the Doctor as he struggled to support himself better, and opened his eyes, and sought her out.

"_River," _he gasped. She abandoned the panel and all but fell to her knees in front of him, one hand on either side of his face.

"I'm here," she assured him. "I'm here, Doctor, what do you need?"

He twitched his hand, dropping the Sonic Screwdriver so that it landed in her lap.

"_Faster," _he wheezed. _"Running out of ti_...time."

Tone, solidarity, appeared in the Doctor's voice: the Pandorica's field was restoring him. River's mind raced. Should she listen to him? Get to work? Were they even the same thing? More than anything right now, she found she wanted to slap him. She wished he could have looked at her now like he had on the rooftop of Area 52, begging her to kill him, so that she could glare back at him and bust a gut trying to hate the man. Instead, when she looked back up at his eyes, they were closed again. River sighed, and she couldn't help a soft smile touching her lips: her Doctor, her miraculous Doctor, so stupid and wise and unbelievably brave. He had taught her forgiveness and love, and he had finally given to her – and shown her, in Amy and Rory and the whole of space and time – what Kovarian and the Silence had promised her her whole life. She could not hate that, and she would never, ever forget it – end of the universe or not.

River tore the panelling away and set to work on the last few wires, to trigger an explosion in the depths of the Pandorica's defence systems that would give it the momentum to get into the open sky before the Vortex jump. Every now and then as she worked, the Doctor's leg twitched beside her: the Pandorica's restoration was working its magic and he was struggling to sit upright.

"Last one," she announced at last, pressing the panel back into place and returning to him. She put one hand on his, pressing the Screwdriver back into his fingers. She didn't care at this point that he might not understand her actions, but it seemed he didn't notice at all.

"What else?" she asked.

"I need to talk...to talk to..."

_Please say me. Please say me._

"...to Amy."

Her heart swelled and blistered, nearly splitting her rib cage, and she clenched her jaw against the pain. He squeezed her fingers – just as they were about to slip from his grasp - and that familiar ocean flooded its old hole in her heart. _He doesn't know you yet. One day he'll love you, just not today._

Only today, the ocean was cold and grey and stormy. He never would know her, and she never would know him – at least, not beyond what she could take with her. And then what would become of her? The Silence would never want her, and she certainly couldn't go to jail for killing a man who never existed. Would she live out her life contentedly the daughter of Amy and Rory Pond? Unlikely. The base atoms of the universe probably didn't contain that code. And anyway, she was River Song now – a name, and an identity, that never could have existed without the Doctor.

"Please...River...time..."

He squeezed her hand again. River drew in a deep breath and stood up, backing off for a moment so the Doctor could have space to breathe: his eyes nearly rolled back in his head with the effort of making her listen. Once he had settled, River leaned in and kissed his forehead.

"_I love you," _she mouthed, so that he would not hear her.

And she took a deep breath, and fetched Amy.


	4. Song of Salvation

**AN ~ Set kind of as a prequel to 'Time of Angels'. This was a challenge entry for another site, and really motivated me to hone doen my 'show don't tell' skills, especially as many of my potential readers had never watched DW before. It was loads of fun and I hope you guys like it – the title is meant to be ironic. Enjoy!**

Song of Salvation

The ceaseless rain pounded the walls of her cell as River Song glared up at the ceiling. She had already memorised every crack, every stain, every patch of mould and mildew that decorated its storm-grey surface. Twelve thousand consecutive life sentences spent in the same 3x3m room would do that - and she was only up to day 4763.

_Well, _she told herself. _You _did_ kill the Doctor. You can't exactly expect to get off lightly._

So she lay there and stared, and wondered how all these days of nothing could make her shoulders hurt so much. The last time she had broken out, she'd practically had them torn off by the Jadoon and they hadn't ached this much. As she pondered it, the pain crept through her veins, engulfing all of her – muscles, bones, heart and lungs - until she felt like screaming.

Instead, she shut her eyes, and waited.

.o.o.o.

Across the hall from Prisoner 187, Stefan Dvorak was getting restless. His hands all but wrung the neck of his gun, and it took a significant portion of his concentration to avoid tapping his foot. The remainder, he channelled to watching the prisoner, who was still lying on her bunk like a corpse.

After twenty more minutes of this Godforsaken silence, Stefan snuck the handset from the emergency contact point on the wall, and called HQ.

"Sir, it's 187." He tried not to whisper, but couldn't help hushing his voice in the hopes that she couldn't hear him.

"_What about her? How many do we need?"_

The Director's voice was urgent, such a contrast with 187's stillness that it made Stefan fumble the headset.

"What? Nothing...none..." he stammered. "I mean, she's just staring at the roof. Like a dead body or something."

"_Staring? Look, Dvorak, half the prisoners in this place go nuts staring at their ceilings. If it keeps 'em off the streets-"_

"No, no." He pulled himself together. "That's not what I mean. This is 187. The woman who killed the Doctor. She should be plotting something. Escaping, I dunno, but-"

"_No, Stefan," _the Director corrected, patronising. _"She shouldn't. As much as Doctor Song should like to deny it, this is a _prison. _Maybe the last ten years are starting to get to her, hm?"_

"...Maybe." Stefan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to press his forehead to the wall. Silently, he scolded himself for his paranoia. Maybe 187 _was_ going crazy, but maybe it was just him: he couldn't count the hours he had spent in this hallway.

"_I'd send you a relief, but it appears Ms Song has a visitor. Bring her down to Holding Three."_

The Director hung up. Stefan replaced the handset and ran a palm over his face before he turned back to fetch her.

"So who wants me?"

Stefan jumped.

Standing a few metres down the hall, hands cuffed behind her back and mischief sparkling in her eye, was Prisoner 187: Doctor River Song.

.o.o.o.

Now this was more like it.

Leading him down the corridor with a swagger in her step, River smirked as Stefan struggled to look like he had control. His hands were both tightly clenched around his gun: one on the handle, one about halfway down the barrel, so that he could take her down the instant she moved too far away. She didn't doubt the boy's practical ability, nor his determination, to do just that, but River enjoyed counting his frantic glances at the back of her head, or at her hands, in between pretending to keep his eyes straight ahead.

When they reached Holding, she stopped. Stefan bit back a growl as he saved himself from walking into her. She chuckled, and he glared at the back of her neck, no longer caring for the Director's warnings not to react to her taunts.

"Where to?" she asked, without turning to him.

"Holding Three," he muttered, shoving her forward before she had time to take a step.

Inside Holding Three, standing behind the steel table and chairs as they had entered from the other door, two men were waiting. The first – tall, silver-haired, with a crisp suit and tight eyes – greeted her with a stiff nod.

"Doctor Song."

"Director." River nodded back and added a small curtsey as Stefan removed her cuffs. The Director's face did not so much as twitch. Instead, he gestured to the chair on her side of the table. River examined it for a moment, and behind her, Stefan held his breath until she sidled forward and slid into the seat, taking a calculated moment to cross her legs before looking up again.

"And who's this?" She made a peak from her fingers and raised an eyebrow at the shorter man beside the Director. It was not hard to ascertain the basics: he wore the fatigues of the Church and a purple badge identifying him as a Bishop Second Class, as well as a stitched label naming him 'Octavian.' What River really meant was _Why is he here?_

"Father Julius Octavian," the Bishop supplied. "I have a rather dangerous project under way, and I've been told you might be able to help me out, Doctor Song."

"That I might."

Father Octavian turned to the Director. "If I may..."

The Director nodded and left the room through the same door he had entered. Without a word, Stefan followed. Once they were alone, Father Octavian slid into the seat opposite River's and pulled from under it a manilla file brimming with paper.

"So how are you, Doctor?" he inquired amiably as he opened the file. River remained silent and watched his hands as he shuffled past statistics and reports to pull out first a news article, and then some kind of contract or declaration.

"I've been informed you're not the most talkative of company." Father Octavian lowered his forearms to shield the documents. _Touché. _River raised her eyes to his, and the Bishop continued.

"I also understand that you have some level of control over certain persons in this establishment. I respect that - though your methods of maintaining it, I find somewhat questionable."

"I find that well behaved women _rarely _make history; don't you?" She smiled like a cat and leaned over, propping her chin up with one hand by putting an elbow on the table. It didn't get her any closer to reading the documents the Bishop was hiding, but she saw his face twitch, and her grin stretched at his discomfort.

"Nine break-outs in the last year," the Bishop continued, eyes steeled but locked on her face. River pouted. "And each time you turned yourself back in. Some believe you're simply fond of the spotlight, but I'll admit I'm curious as to how much deeper this goes. What better way to investigate than to offer you an adventure you can't refuse?"

Father Octavian pushed the news article across the table to River. She lifted her chin off her hand and reached for the paper, pausing a moment with arm outstretched to study the man more deeply. His watchful eyes revealed nothing new; only that he was observing her with just as much intensity as she did him.

_How much deeper this goes, _he had said. Not _If this goes deeper._

Laughing it off, she turned a little to the side and lifted the article from the table, looking down her nose to read it.

"I'm not sure you grasp the gravity of the situation, Doctor Song," the Bishop pressed as she her eyes danced through the article. "You see, in return for your assistance, I'm prepared to offer you something I doubt you'll come across again in the near future."

She had just reached the last paragraph, and hesitated. _Oh, he's good. _She dropped the page, and allowed it to float back across the table to the Bishop.

"Forgive my language, but this must be one Hell of a mission, then." 

"How so?"

"One doesn't go handing out reductions to Stormcage inhabitants – let alone _the woman who killed the Doctor _- for any old espionage mission, Bishop." Eyes narrowed, River uncrossed her legs and leaned across the table. "_What's on the Byzantium?"_

The Bishop smirked and mimicked her.

"Tell me, Doctor," he invited. "What do you know of the Weeping Angels?"

Father Octavian leaned back. He had to relish the expression that crossed River Song's face at this name. It was horror without audience, as though the blood had simply frozen in her veins. He wondered, with demonic passion, whether she had felt the same fear when she had destroyed the Doctor; if her refusal to bow to the Shadow Proclamation's judgements, or to those of the rest of the universe, was entwined with some fear beyond the mortal realm.

_No, _he concluded as he watched her face settle back into a cool expression. This was a woman who had calculated her every move; she had measured up all possible costs, and murdered nonetheless. But she had a soul, the Bishop believed, and like any other, that soul yearned for freedom.

"We're not sure," he clarified, pulling a fountain pen from his left breast pocket. "That's why I'm here, in fact. I could have chosen anyone – any prisoner in this place - to investigate the contents of the _Byzantium, _but if we _are_ dealing with one of the Winged Assassins, we're going to need someone with a lot to lose."

"Oh?" River Song raised her eyebrows. "And what makes you think I'm that someone?"

The Bishop lay the pen on the second sheet of paper and pushed them across the table together.

"For your assistance in this matter, Doctor Song, I have been granted the authority to award you a pardon."

She didn't pick the page up this time, but as River read through it, her jaw began to slacken. _The criminal known as Stormcage Prisoner 187, Doctor River Song, is to henceforth be recognised as a ward of the Church..._

"The Church values your skills as an archaeologist, and your military training – not to mention, your extensive connections and resources," the Bishop explained. "The first part of the mission is a simple infiltration, but make no mistake, Doctor: you are not being freed to break into a party. Goodness knows you do enough of that on your own. You'd be in it for the long haul, and _if_ this turns out to be an Angel, we're going to need the equivalent of a whole Congregation on our side. If you can get us the manpower, I can get you your life back. Do we have a deal?"

River signed the contract with a flourish and beamed at Father Octavian as she pushed it back across the table.

"If you're that desperate to have me, I'll go you one better," she declared. "Get me my freedom, Father Octavian, and I'll bring you the equivalent of an _army._"

"Excellent."

The Director stiffly opened the door behind the Bishop as Father Octavian tucked the contract away. He kept his eyes locked on Prisoner 187, and she beamed back before turning, with a flick of her hips, and strutting towards the doorway on her own side.

"Doctor Song is now in my custody," the Bishop informed the Director. "I'll have her picked up in exactly one hour."

She could practically hear the Director's blood boiling. Still beaming, River half-turned back as she opened the door.

"I take it Stage One is Black Tie?"

The Director glared. Father Octavian nodded. River bobbed a curtsey and swept herself from the room. She had the perfect outfit in mind.


	5. That Thing that Goes On

**AN ~ **SPOILERS FOR Pond Life 5 and 7x01 Asylum of the Daleks****

**I've been neglecting my authorly duties lately – sorry! - but with the aforementioned episodes I couldn't help thinking of River, and of course my loyal readers, so here you go everyone!**

**That Thing that Goes On**

Amy growled in irritation and shuffled again, sliding lower so that she was on her back almost completely, only her head on the armrest of the couch, and tried to hold the book in a comfortable, readable way. She'd already been at it for three hours, and had only managed about twenty pages, but she had called in sick to work, and she was sure someone would see her out and about and report her for skipping. It wouldn't usually be a big deal, but Manuel hadn't been happy with her performance of late; he had been calling her 'unfocused' and even 'uncommitted.' She needed to get her head back in the game.

_Bzzzzzz!_

From the front of the house, Amy heard an electric crackle, followed by a cluttering of percussive sounds – umbrellas and picture frames littering the foyer carpet. Abandoning her tough-savvy-female-detective's thrilling adventures, Amy rushed to the front door to find River Song straightening the umbrella stand with one hand while holding what appeared to be a tapestry around herself like a towel. Upon Amy's entry, River turned around with a grin, apparently unfazed by her odd state of dress. Amy shook her head – why was she never surprised? - and directed River upstairs.

"Blue box on your bed. The Doctor dropped it off a few weeks ago. Said you'd be needing it."

"Mmm," River purred, her confident beam slipping into a lascivious smirk. "Of course he did."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Get dressed!"

.o.o.o.

The tapestry rolled out to be about the size of a large beach towel. Its carpet-like qualities allowed it to stay for the most part upright as it rested along one wall of the Ponds' dining room. From her seat opposite it at the table, Amy could only stare at the grotesque crowd of clashing horses, men, swords. There were probably a few women in there with their dresses rather 'artistically' torn – the French seemed to have an obsession with that.

"Louis can spare a few tapestries, Mother," River assured her, coming to sit between Amy and the painting in her more natural state – boots, camouflage trousers with an impossible number of pockets, a hardy utility belt, and a wheat-coloured shirt left unbuttoned over a purple singlet. Her hair was raked back into a high pony tail, which bobbed as she turned to follow her mother's gaze. "To be honest, I'm glad I could save this one. The peasants are none too happy with him right now, if you catch my drift."

She took a sip of her tea and turned back to Amy, who was still staring. In fact, the Scot seemed to have deflated considerably since first seeing her daughter. River frowned and double checked the painting. There was no reference to the Doctor in it, she was quite sure, and she doubted Amy was saddened like this by the plight of the soon-to-be-murdered French aristocracy. River looked around. The kitchen was clean, but not unhomely. In her view of the lounge-room, obstructed by a doorway, River could see a shabby paperback novel abandoned with the spine bent in the air, a tea that was no longer steaming, a box of tissues, and what appeared to be a bed set up, slept-in, and abandoned on the couch.

She looked back at Amy, and tried to make her smile.

"So who's in the doghouse? I don't suppose my other half has been making himself a nuisance lately? The TARDIS was having some mechanical difficulties when I -."

"No." A surprisingly bitter, but quiet objection cut River off. Amy looked down, and traced the edge of her teacup with a finger. "It's nothing like that. We- _I _haven't seen the Doctor in months."

"Oh." River laughed a little. "He'll show up, don't worry. He always does, Amy." But Amy's faith in the Doctor was too strong to warrant this moping. There was something more to this.

"_We – I..."_

Oh. Wait. _No._

"Where's Father dear?" River tried to keep her tone light, but Amy instantly stiffened at the mention of Rory. So not dead then. Good. But definitely something bad.

"Your father and I...had a fight," Amy managed. "River...I'm sorry..."

Amy looked up, and River's hands fell away from her own cup of tea. She held the edge of the table. The Doctor was the only one who ever apologised to her.

"We're getting a divorce."

River's mind reeled, a feeling she was decidedly uncomfortable with, as the tendrils holding her life to some semblance of normality beginning to snap. Her jaw hung open a little, and her arms trembled as her mind struggled with this sudden lack of control. How did this happen? Why? And to Amy and Rory? No! No! Not her parents. Not after all they'd been through – death, paradoxes, the end of the _universe._

And yet, she had heard civilian life could be just as destructive. After the Doctor, life could never be the same.

But he would have fixed it. Her Doctor. He would have done _anything _to keep this from happening. He knew how much they loved each other. He knew how much they loved _her. _He knew that she needed stability, despite all her acting up – they had always been there for her, and always together.

"The papers are just being finalised. Should be done by the end of the week," Amy continued. "The Doctor doesn't know - like I said, haven't seen him in ages. But this really is for the best, River. It just wasn't working. You know how it is, after _him."_

"Don't blame _him." _River's response was slow, and steeped in reddening rage. Sliding the chair back, River stood. Tears of self-pity, of shock, and of anger prickled her eyes. She growled through them at her mother. "Don't you _dare _blame the Doctor. That man loves you more than you could ever know. Both of you. He'd _never_ let this happen."

"I can't explain it," Amy closed her eyes, hoping to block out her daughter's agony. _Believe me. Please just believe me and be mad and leave it at that. Please._

"Can't explain it?!" River threw one hand towards the doorway. "You kicked him out, didn't you! Rory! How did you explain it to _him?"_

"I didn't!" Panic. Self-loathing. _Drop it, River, please! _"He didn't ask!"

"Yeah, I should have guessed! He'd trust you that much, he'd just believe there was some reason. Something_ he'd_ done wrong!"

"I never said that!"

River glared at her mother. Amy stared back, and her panic dissolved. River was not going to let up until some justification was given, so it would be best just to get done with it. Tears were already springing to her eyes again – for her own pain, for Rory's, and for that which she imagined she was about to inflict on River. Her voice dropped into a gravelly whisper.

"He didn't do anything wrong. I never said that."

Amy's softened tone called for a drop in River's stance too. She put her rage on hold and leaned in.

"It was Kovarian and the Silence," Amy admitted. "At Demon's Run, they did something to me. I don't know what, but it was- I mean I can't..." She took a deep breath, and fixed her eyes on River's. "I can't have kids."

River sunk into the chair, use of her limbs having otherwise abandoned her.

_You can't just _grow_ a Time Lord..._

"Amy..." she breathed. She should have known. All her life, Kovarian had never ceased to remind her of the cost it took to create, train and protect her – whether it was for punishing her, praising her, or inciting fear, River had never lost sight of how valuable she was. The genetic engineers, the injections, the billions of dollars and the lives lost in search of the body of a Time Lord to use – even the cells worth a war.

Guilt, pain, fury swirled around in her head like a storm, but her body had lost all will to exercise them. Across the table, Amy had lowered her head again, and was focusing on steadying breaths. River tried the same. She'd never been good at sensitive, though. What could she say? That she was sorry? Amy would only say that it wasn't her fault.

River reached across the table, and gently pulled one of Amy's hands off the teacup. She gave it a gentle squeeze. Amy looked up so that she just met River's eyes, gave her daughter a brave smile, and squeezed back.


	6. Sticks and Stones

**AN ~ WARNING: contains spoilers for Angels Take Manhattan!**

**I cried. I cried a lot. Amy and Rory were my first companions (I have made a video – TheSonicBuzz2011 – and I will shortly be writing something about this) but there was a lot of emotion in this ep for River too. This one's more Doctor-centric but I want to write one about Amy and Rory too. ("River, they're your parents" "But it's my best shot yeah?" "Doctor shut up, yes, yes, it is!" TEARS!)**

**Anyway, here is yet another tribute to the wonderous strength that is River Song.**

**Sticks and Stones**

"_Get your wrist out. You get your wrist out without breaking it."_

"_How?"_

"_I dunno, just do it!"_

River gritted her teeth as a wave of petty anger washed through her. She had bigger problems than that insolent man – one of which being the fact that a Weeping Angel had her captive and she was alone in the room. It would take considerable effort to not be looking at some part of the Angel, so unless the power went out, she was fairly safe in that respect. Unfortunately, she couldn't stand here forever, and the Angel's grip was so tight that one of their wrists was going to have to go. And on the Doctor's orders, it was not to be her own.

River looked her forearm up and down, from fingers to elbow, and came up with nothing immediate, so with the slightest turn of her head, and using a well-trained peripheral vision, she stockpiled her resources.

The leather arm chair with the book was quite close, on her right. Beside it – unfortunately, on the far side – was an end table with a doily, an ash tray and half a glass of Scotch. There were the drapes, of course, on both sides, and a portrait hanging on the wall. All in all, not the most useful collection of tools. River growled in irritation and turned her attention back to her wrist.

She flexed her hand, and her fingers only tingled a little; circulation was still fairly good. That was promising. River forced her arm just a little further into the Angel's grasp, then tried to pull it back down, but the stone bruised and scraped her skin and clung as tightly as ever.

"Fine, be that way," she muttered, drawing on a well of bitterness for her campaign against the stone. No matter what she ended up doing, she could not break the Angel's wrist on her own from this position: it was only going to get worse before it got better. Keeping her eyes locked on the Angel's fingers, River inched as much of her body as would go back and to the right, towards the glass of Scotch. Her wrist strained against the stone fingers, the angle disagreeable to its unwavering material, but she soon found the end table with her foot. River reached back with her free arm, and battled the urge to turn her head to see exactly where the glass was, terrified of knocking it over and wasting her chance. At last she had it, and almost staggered back towards her captor, wrist throbbing as some of the pressure was relieved.

Pouring the liquid slowly over her skin, River bit her lip against the sting and massaged her arm lower and lower, closer and closer to freedom, until the Angel had only her hand. And here it stopped, and would not relinquish any more flesh.

"Of course." River sighed. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this; in fact, it was still quite unlikely that this would even work. But for him, she would always, always try. So, gritting her teeth against the pain, she grabbed her trapped thumb in her free hand and wrenched it downwards.

The brief stab of the dislocation quickly evolved into a smarting ache, and River tried desperately to pull her hand out from the Angel's before the jerking could cause any new pain. No matter how hard she tried though, the stone fingers clung passively, yet visciously. Stuck halfway out, her dislocated thumb, forced so unforgivingly into the wrong position, continued to sting, and sting, and sting, and the agony was renewed with every slightest movement. The cuts on her wrist and hand, now bathed in alcohol, began to burn, and burn, and River's heart rose into a panic at the fact that she couldn't get out, couldn't get out, couldn't get out.

Gritting her teeth so hard together that her ears began to hurt, River retreated; she forced her hand back above the Angel's fingers and released the pressure on her wounds so that the stinging, biting, burning pain could blur into one ache, and so she could think. This was not going to work. Her hand was never going to fit. She had to think of another way out, and fast, because Rory and Amy and the Doctor could be dying out there without her, and because the fact that she was alone in the room with an Angel was really starting to get to her. What if one was creeping up behind her, right at this moment? She couldn't turn around to check, or this one would get her.

Hang on.

She smiled: it was risky, but if she timed it right...

River clenched her free hand into a fist, just in case. She wasn't sure what a punch would to an Angel while it was living, but even breaking her hand would at this point be worth it just for a feeling of security. And, she had to admit, a little bit of vengeance. Hopefully, the Angel would try to combat the attack, thus letting go of her wrist. It would only take a moment, a blink, and then she could open her eyes and be free.

Or dead.

"Oh, Doctor," she murmured to herself. "Why do we let you do this to us?"

But she drew a deep breath, and gathered her strength, and her love, and her desire to stop whatever it was that had happened in the book and made the Doctor change so suddenly. Was it Amy or Rory's deaths she was preventing? Or the Doctor's? Or her own? She didn't know, and she didn't need to know.

She shut her eyes and pulled back, thrusting a strong left hook just in case. For one glorious instant she felt it might have worked, but then, as if in slow motion, she heard the crunch of crushed bone, and felt the pain of it rage up her arm.

River opened her eyes. The Angel was smiling. Shakily, and making sure to keep the Angel in her field of vision, River lowered her eyes to her bloody, battered hand. She clicked her thumb back into place, which hardly caused a ripple in the throbbing pain eminating from the wrist.

_The wrist._

"But where, _where _have they taken him?"

Amy. River stiffened. Amy would think this was all her faultbecause she read it in a book.

"I don't know, I don't know!"

The Doctor, on the other hand, would think it was all his fault, because it always was. He would be so disappointed in her, too, for disobeying him and for not meeting his demands, and that would only make him feel selfish and cruel. He was already fragile enough: in the foyer, she could hear him pacing, furious and terrified. With her good arm, River reached for her trenchcoat.

"Why?" Amy pressed.

"Further back in time, temporal energy, I don't know, siddown, I'm thinking!"

River slung her trench coat over her good arm, and gingerly slid her wrist into the other sleeve. She wiped her eyes, in case any stray markers of the sting could give her away, and turned on her electronic pad, setting it to track Rory's biological signature.

"So is this what's going to happen? We just keep chasing him back in time and they keep pulling him further back."

The data showed up with perfect timing to make her entrace. _Eyes on the screen, don't let them see._

"He isn't back in time." River strode into the foyer. "I'm reading a displacement but there are no temporal markers. He's been moved in space, not in time – and, and it's not too far from here by the look of it."

_Here goes._

She looked up, straight at him, and saw sheer elation.

"You got out." He was stunned. He had good reason. But she smiled, and another lie began.


	7. Where We Aught to Be

**AN ~ Hello! It's been a while since I posted in this collection, and I actually was going to post this as a separate oneshot but it does fit (though I've split it into 2 parts). Kind-of-sequel to theThis one explores what River may have experienced during the no-man's-land at the end of Big Bang in which Amy & Rory were "where they aught to be" and the Doctor did not exist. Enjoy!**

**Also, I am taking requests for scenes you'd like to be explored, so fire away!**

Where We Aught to Be

_Not to you?_

_He doesn't really know me yet. Now he never will._

River stared into the sky long after the blazing Pandorica had left her vision. Then, at long last, she bit her lip and sucked in a breath and blinked away the tears that were filling her eyes. Beginning to feel the bruises left by the marble column she had all but thrown herself against, she got to her feet.

"Um...what's happening?" Rory asked, stepping back. He swung a pointed finger from River to Amy and back again. "And who are you?"

"Rory-" Amy replied with a frown, stepping forward and pointing at River, though she stared hard at Rory. "It's River. You know; 'hello sweetie', Cleopatra, killed a Dalek?"

"Um." Rory wore a matching frown as he stammered for a slightly polite way of saying that he had no idea what she was talking about, who River was or even... "What's a Dalek?"

All fingers dropped. Amy glanced at River, jaw lax. Suddenly, as if through a crack behind him – and perhaps indeed it was – a blinding white light enclosed Rory.

"What's happening? Amy? What's-"

"RORY!" She sprinted forward, to where he had been standing, and got there just as the light disappeared and took her fiance with it. Amy turned on the spot, looking around desperately, her arms rising and falling at her side, helpless.

"Amy, it's okay." River could hear them both in her head: her Doctor, and the Tardis, reassuring each other, congratulating each other, saying their farewells. She was almost choking on it. But Amy, Amy was here and starting to sob because she'd been through this before.

"I don't wanna forge' him, River. I can't." Amy shook her head in refusal, not caring that River should have had no idea what she was talking about.

_Mother, _she almost said. "Amy, remember what I said? We'll all wake up where we aught to be, and none of this will have ever happened. Rory hadn't met me before this. Or a Dalek. He's at home, waiting for you. You'll be there too, soon. You'll be with him, like you should be."

The light appeared, and Amy froze in place as if it were a predator that had yet to locate her. Her wide eyes suddenly locked on River's, and she asked,

"Wha' about you?"

But she was gone before River could answer.

.o.o.o.

River woke up with a throbbing jaw pressed against a floor of cold marble. As she sat up, she flexed it and looked around. The room was fairly small, especially for the height of the roof, and there were stairs just beside her. In the centre of the room – and as it seemed, the only exhibit it contained – there was a round dais, also of marble, but whatever had once rested atop it was now gone without a trace. Well, with only one trace; quite a handy one at that. A single-sheet flyer flickered in the centre of the circle, and crawled towards River with the force of a small wind. When she bent down to pick it up, she read it: she was at the Natural History Museum.

_Odd, _she thought, looking around again. There should be more exhibits, of course, unless she was in a closed wing, but there should _definitely _be people.

Tucking the flyer into her jacket, River bent to pick up her scanner. The screen was black. Broken? She frowned. Whatever had hit her had certainly done a number: she had all her senses in full working order, so a drug was unlikely, but she couldn't even remember leaving Stormcage. Slowly and quietly, she began to climb the stairs, resting one hand on her Alpha Meson blaster just in case.

When she came to the top of the stairs, though, she quickly realised she was not in the Natural History Museum at all. Before her stretched an expanse of sand, which was ended only by an expanse of water, framed by a rocky horizon she recognised all too well.

Lake Silencio.

The very thought of it sent a shiver through her, but River stepped out onto the sand anyway. She had a firm grip of her blaster, now out of its holster and lying in wait at her side.

_I made you what you are._

The voice crawled over skin like spiders. River squirmed and staggered back and whipped around, weapon raised.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "How do you know who I am?"

She was sure she had asked that before. She didn't remember the answers.

_Please, my love, please please just run._

It was her own voice now, taunting her. She had to get out of here. There had to be some way. But They were here, on the beach...those things...She had to get away...get to the water...

Panting, and up to her knees in Lake Silencio, River looked at herself in the water. She was wearing a long, fairly shapeless white robe. It almost seemed to glow. Her belt, her scanner and, she could bet, the flyer had all disappeared.

_Doctor. _Herself again. She sounded so sad. Her heart started pounding louder and faster in her ears. _Please tell me you know who I am._

Her heart rate double instantly, her chest seizing as she tried to get enough oxygen to her spinning head. So much felt wrong with this she wasn't sure where to start, but one thing was clear. Something was playing with her head; her memories, her fears. It was out to get her, or the Doctor, or both – and River Song was not going down quietly. Raising her gun, ready to shoot the next thing she saw, she sprinted back up the beach...

and onto the observation deck of Calderon Beta's most famous tree.

In high heels now, and with such momentum, River careened straight across the deck and into the railings, winding herself before she could stop. Her gun was gone now, as was her robe, which had been replaced by an ankle-length black evening dress and impossibly high red heels. Looking around once more to try to make sense of all this, her eyes had caught the stars and she could not think of anything else for a long moment except how beautiful they were. For a long moment, that is, until she heard a voice behind her. A real, embodied voice.

"Hello Honey, I'm home."

River turned.

"It's been so long," she breathed, putting a hand over her heart in case it decided to explode. The Doctor stepped out of the shadows in neat black tails, with a white bow tie and a red rose pinned to his lapel.

"No, it hasn't."

"Yes. It has. You haven't said that to me since-"

"About fifteen minutes ago."

River raised an eyebrow. "Spoilers."

"Not if you've already done it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story, and you'll remember it soon, I promise."

"Does it explain why my clothes keep switching?" River gestured to her outfit, which had now returned to the jacket and jodhpurs she had been wearing in the museum. "And what about the scenery? And the voices?"

"Voices?" The Doctor frowned. "Well, I suppose that makes sense. Time is distorted around you. It doesn't know where to put you: where you aught to be."

River reached a hand up, almost to her throat. "Did I- Did I say that?" A slight smile crept onto the Doctor's face as he fossicked around in his jacket pocket for something.

"I'm on the other side of the explosion, I don't exist any more and Amy and Rory never travel with me so _you, _River, you don't really exist either. But you do, because time vortex or not, you're still a Pond."

River's eyes fell to the slip of paper he was holding out to her. It was cream, and slightly shiny, like a...like a wedding invitation. And it was marked _Mels. _She had to laugh. They never had asked her for a last name.

_And now, _she thought with a pang, _they'll never know._

"River." The Doctor shook the invite, gesturing her to take it, but his voice was tender. "Trust me. You will remember all this, you _will _understand and it will all be okay. We're right on track. All you have to do, is give Amy your diary."

"_What?"_

River put a hand over the pocket hanging from her belt where she knew the diary was kept. "I can't just _give it. _She'll see things...she'll know things before she can-"

"Then remove all the writing. I can put it all back by accessing your scanner with the Tardis – once I have the Tardis back, of course. I won't peek. Promise."

River huffed, but removed the diary from its pocket and the scanner too. Running the device over the cover, she waited for it to sort out the layers and store her words.

"Well come on dear," the Doctor said after a moment, glancing at his watch with a little more urgency than she suspected he was aiming for. "We don't have all day. Augustus is just about to start his speech and then we might never get back."

She watched the screen. The word 'Ready' flashed in green, but it was not as reassuring as she usually found it. River gave the device a little extra time, just in case, and then – hoping the Doctor didn't hear the catch in her breath – pressed _Delete Source._

"There," she sighed. "I hope you-"

She looked up, and he was gone. Instead, she was halfway down what appeared to be some sort of path or driveway. Waiters and waitresses were clearing up a table of nibbles trays, and by the entrance of the building behind them – which appeared to be a town hall or some such, judging by the iron-cast clock face that shone in the twilight – were bunches of red and white balloons in heart shapes and tied with fancy ribbons. River hurried to straighten and sort out her expression. She was at a wedding. Her parents' wedding.

In _jodhpurs._

Sure, she had greater things to worry about – like her prized possession just having been wiped of all its prize, and her almost total lack of memory about any of this – but turning up to a wedding in jodhpurs was rude and not to mention, suspicious. She didn't _feel _like she was in jodhpurs though. She had heels on, for one thing. River looked down, and with relief saw that her clothing had swapped one more time. She wore a black evening gown, and loops of pearls around her neck matching the pearl-coloured heels she wore. Not her favourites. She wanted those red ones back, actually.

The thought occurred to her then that she'd best get this over with before time decided to swap her again, or show her somewhere else. She jogged up to the door.

"Oh, hello," she said, interrupting a young, blonde waitress, who straightened to look at her with a sparkle in her eye and a friendly smile. River smiled back.

"I can't stay, I'm not really invited, but I'm a friend of a friend who told me to drop this off for the bride. I was wondering if you could perhaps get it to her for me?"

"Certainly," the young woman replied. "I think they're just in the middle of speeches now. I'll go and drop it off for you. Can I have a na-?"

The waitress cut herself off, frowning to empty air.


End file.
